Butterflies
by EclipseKlutz
Summary: We have nothing but questions, and the answers reside on the other side of a blurry line we will never understand. TimmyxVicky, set in Channel Chaser's alternate future.


**Butterflies  
****_By EclipseKlutz_ **

**PG, K+  
****Angst/Drama/Romance… kinda**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Fairly Odd Parents_—and therefore don't own boasting rights. Pity me.

**Spoilers: **Post the _Channel Chasers _movie, and in the future predicted within it.

* * *

_Worlds live divided and apart. Just like their inhabitants… and past and future. The line that separates them, however, is far from definite. It's blurry, and nearly impossible to find. If it happened yesterday, then why must déjà vu haunt you today? If you understand that girl so well, then why do her eyes seem jaded over? Why must we hide?_

_There is nothing here for us but pain and doubt. It should be gone—it disappeared—it died. Why does it sit there now? Why does it speak, plot, scheme, laugh, cry, _bleed

_We have nothing but questions._

_And the answers reside on the other side of the line._

_

* * *

_

The room was bleak, uninviting: bleached walls, stained floors, boarded windows, a figure tied to a chair in the back corner… all of this decorated the small space. A span of emptiness and loss that she'd become so accustomed to, yet so afraid of all the same.

She was a soldier, a ruler; strong and powerful, in charge of everything with the world beating in the palm of her hand. She was a king in her own right—yet tyrants aren't supposed to break.

Not the way in which she had.

Gods don't succumb to insignificant details and affairs; power doesn't fall to something so simple and delicate as passion and lust. And now she leaned against the wall opposite of the bound man, her posture and aura resembling that of a fragile child. Her heart had split down the center, fractured into pieces… that wasn't supposed to happen. Why had it?

Betrayal had never been integrated into her master plan. Not for him. Her lieutenant, her right-hand man, the _only _being who had ever seen her crash…

She trapped the tears behind her eyes, imprisoned the sobs within her throat, and hesitantly approached him. Words would fail her—hatred would overtake her—sadness would bar her… She couldn't speak, she couldn't act, she couldn't breathe…

She halted her trek near the center of the room, and cast her gaze to the floor. His eyes were boring into her, penetrating her—he was watching her like a hawk, and had been for the past hour. Somehow, their roles had been reversed. Where he was supposed to be the victim of torture and death, she felt that she now had fallen to his place—where she'd been assigned the duty of damning him, he now did so to her without speaking so much as a word.

It was disgusting that she could sink so low, so fast, so easily. Truly despicable.

She couldn't let this continue. She brought her gaze back up and dragged her feet across the room, trying to uphold an air of confidence that was as faux as her resolve.

She noticed him shift in his bindings and suppressed the frown—the chords had been wrapped around his torso and ankles tightly, knotted precisely, yet he'd already broken through them, apparently having chosen to wait before he announced this.

She knew him to well for these games…

"I had to."

The words broke through her thoughts without warning, and her attention snapped back into reality. He continued to watch her with an unblinking gaze, his eyes a tidal wave of emotion while his expression remained neutral and indifferent.

"Commit treason?" She responded quickly, before she had time to process her thoughts, initiate a speech. "Destroy all we've worked so hard to create? _Lie to me_?"

His frown deepened, "Save the future. _This _future."

"Why? What's so bad about this future?" She snapped back harshly, unable to keep her voice bland and blank. "You can't stand that _I'm _the one in power, can you? I _always _had the power over you! It doesn't matter what year, what day—no matter how much you alter, that will never change."

"It has _nothing _to do with power. I promise you that."

She felt her gaze harden, and her voice went cold. "Do you want me to even start on promises and you, Turner?"

"It wasn't supposed to be this way."

"How was it supposed to be? Me dead? Coffin-ized? Cremated? What's_ wrong _with this future?"

"I don't want you dead," He stated, "That era ended a long time ago."

She arched an eyebrow at him, disbelieving. "Is _that _why you infiltrated my forces? To save me? Nice try, Turner—I know what you did. I know why. You can't fool me."

"No, I can't… but you can."

"…"

Wasn't she supposed to be the one interrogating him? Why was she muddled, baffled, bewildered—what was wrong with her? It was backwards—every bit of it turned around in such a way that it ceased to make any form of logical sense.

Again, his frown seemed to enhance as he tried to explain in a voice that suggested lack of emotion. "It started that way… and maybe with power, too. You had too much, your army was growing to fast, we rebels were losing ground… I had no choice."

"Started?"

"Things change. People change."

She wasn't willing to admit her confusion, and much less to admit the hope and longing slowly bubbling up inside of her. She stayed silent, waiting for him to elaborate or say something more.

He did. "You're different then I thought you were. You weren't the same Vicky who made my life Hell… If I'd have wanted you dead, would I have saved your life?"

That hit some form of nerve, brought up a suppressed memory—one of many she'd tried to drown upon discovering evidence of his treason. This one was too vivid for her liking, too detailed in many aspects.

--------------------------

_Another war with the rebel army was reaching a close, and practically ensured her victory. According to reports, Timmy Turner had died nearly a year ago, and she'd been left trying to kill off his comrades, yet to no avail. They continued to slip from her grasp, yet this time… this time she nearly had one. _

_The blonde was backed against the foundry the rebels had recently taken refuge in, one hand tracing the plaster up the wall—searching for something she couldn't see. It hadn't worried her at the time; she'd had the advantage: a rifle positioned so that the bullet would meet his chest upon impact. She didn't think he'd noticed this, though._

_Finally, he turned to her and grinned, "C'mon, Vic, shoot me."_

_That had told her all she needed, and slowly she raised the rifle so that it was leveled with his neck. She offered him a confident smirk and tilted her head to the side, ignoring the strand of red hair that fell in front of her eyes, "You sure?"_

_It was then that the wall behind him opened up in a rather dramatic fashion—swinging slightly and tumbling to that rubble and debris littered the ground, scattered at his feet. Now he stood before his darker-skinned companion who was currently targeting her with a machine gun._

_She bit back the groan and shifted the rifle; holding it now so that it faced A.J., "Step back."_

_"I don't see your army," he replied bluntly, the cocky edge to his voice igniting her temper. What he'd said was true—her forces were elsewhere, battling his own. "So… surrender?"_

_"No," she offered it to him in a nonchalant manner, as though she was informing him that she detested butterflies. _

_He nodded, and clicked a switch on the machine gun. It began to glow, a pulsing blue light that unnerved her slightly. She didn't show it._

_"You positive?" He asked, as though he were inquiring if she was certain of her abhorrence for butterflies._

_"I won't surrender." She did _not_ like butterflies._

_Once again, he nodded, and she watched as the first missile flew out of its containment, heading straight for her. Suddenly, someone was on her, dragging her down into the mud and dirt at her feet. The pressure of the person's weight was gone almost instantly, as the quickly climbed to their feet and lunged at the gun. He wrestled A.J. for control of the instrument, shoving him into the factory before fully disarming the gun._

_Yet before their exchange was finished, she was hauled to her feet by her waist, and quickly felt the muzzle of a gun pressed against her left carotid as the person's grip on her waist tightened. She was a hostage—great._

_Slowly, she tilted her head to see Chester's face, and his eyes staring elsewhere. She followed his gaze to a veteran recruit she'd recently appointed as a general. He'd forever claimed his name to be Merek, yet had admitted to her once that it was a pseudo he'd used after the government had been overthrown. This hadn't worried her at the time._

_"You gonna save her?" Chester demanded, all cockiness evaporated from his voice._

_Merek shrugged, "I think that's my plan."_

_"Why?"_

_Merek supplied no answer, and instead stepped forward… then again… once more. After a few long strides he was standing directly in front of Chester, and she noticed her captor tense as a staring contest pursued. This was how they were going to fight?_

_She swallowed the sigh as she noted that she was liable to die here and so far had neglected to write her will. Probably not her most brilliant call to date…_

_It was then that she realized what Merek was doing, however. While keeping Chester distracted with their petty games, he'd slipped an arm around her waist, and now stepped back, pulling her out with him. She stumbled slightly, and he made some effort to sturdy her while the blonde frowned and lowered his gun._

_"You disgust me," was all Chester said before he turned and walked away._

--------------------------

"Maybe," she stated finally, her voice finally barren of emotion. "It could have been a set-up to get me to trust you… I don't know how your mind works."

"I know how yours does."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"_Well_," he began, once again shifting in his seat before finally standing up and allowing the ropes to fall off of him, "I know you already knew I'd escaped."

She nodded, "You move often. It's obvious."

He offered her a rather cocky grin as he walked towards her; in the familiar strides he tended to take when assigned to a task. His trek stopped perhaps six inches in front of her, making the height difference between them all too obvious. "I know you're still convinced that you have the power."

"That's not a new development."

"Yeah," he acknowledged, his grin widening somewhat. "I know you don't wanna be here."

"Do you?"

"Point taken… I know you're gonna let me walk out of here."

"Reverse psychology doesn't work on me, Turner," she stated, her carefully blank expression fading into one of angst and dislike. "One of the few things we have in common, apparently."

His own grin evanesced at this statement as he shook his head, a hint of an emotion she couldn't translate etched into his face. "It's not reverse psychology."

"Then what is it?"

He frowned, taking one more step towards her, closing the better part of the gap between them. She tilted her head upwards to greet him; her expression questioning as she did so, and in response it seemed the frown plastered to his face fell further. Was there something here she was missing?

She felt her heart skip a beat as he gently draped his arms around her, leaving her to stand there dumbly, waiting for whatever it was destined to come next. He lowered his head, and brushed his lips against hers before pressing harder, waiting for something… she didn't recoil.

She felt him smile slightly against her mouth, and tentatively she kissed him back. This apparently had been what he'd wanted, for he continued on, tightening his hold on her—both physically and emotionally.

Then he pulled back, his grin secured in its place as he reached for her arms and wrapped them around his neck. "I know that you _don't _have the power here… neither do I. But you're gonna let me go."

With this, he released her and sidestepped her, heading for the door, leaving her standing still in the spot in which he'd left her. As he pulled open the door, he turned to face her and offered softly, "By the way, we have one more thing in common… neither of us likes butterflies."

With that, he stepped out into the cold, harsh night, where he could finally breathe, and released his grip on the door handle, allowing it to fall back into its frame.

It wasn't until many hours later that she finally left the room, one question standing out amongst the others lingering in her mind: _How did he know?_

_

* * *

_

**A/N: **This one was more of an experiment than anything else… and idea that wouldn't leave me alone, ya know? Not sure if its OOC or anything (probably is very out of character), but as this is my first _Fairly Odd Parents _fanfic, and possibly only, don't really care.

Anyways, I thrive off of reviews, so supply one, please. 'K?


End file.
